Duck You
by copyallcatsandacrobats
Summary: Shawn, Juliet, and Lassiter are trying a thing, but they don't know what the duck they're doing. (Shawn/Juliet/Lassiter OT3 series PART TWO.)
1. The Not-So-Dread Pirate

_*** **Note** : This is the second part in the Hunting Season series, which centers around the Shawn/Juliet/Lassiter developing relationship. It is necessary to read part one, "Wascals", before beginning this part of the story. _

* * *

_When it seems they're heading for the final curtain  
Good deduction never fails, that's for certain  
The worst of messes  
Become successes  
_—Duck Tales Theme Song

 **DECEMBER 2008**

Juliet O'Hara sat calmly in the waiting area of the emergency room, filling out paperwork and waiting for Carlton to call her back. She had left him a message that simply said he should get a hold of her when he could, and she was grateful that her voice hadn't jumped around or that she hadn't said more, worrying him before they were able to talk. She tried to decide how to tell him about what had happened while she ticked boxes in the Medical History portion of the forms. It was almost one o'clock in the morning, but she wasn't at all hungry, even though she'd forgotten her planned late dinner entirely when she'd picked up her phone four hours earlier and Gus had started to talk.

Her phone started to vibrate and she flipped it open without glancing at the display. "O'Hara," she greeted slowly. Speaking slowly helped keep everyone calm—it was something most cops picked up on very quickly.

"Juliet. What's wrong?"

She set her pen down and closed her eyes, smiling a little at Carlton's clipped tone; of course he had heard what was in her voice in her message, and he'd known what it had meant. "Shawn's okay," she said, making that the first thing he heard, and then amended that: "He's going to be okay."

She heard him exhale very softly, and could picture him closing his eyes as well. "From?" he asked.

She opened her eyes and shook her head helplessly, trying hard not to laugh exasperatedly, or hysterically, or at all. "Don't laugh. I mean, not that you would, but... he has a head wound. They're stapling the back of his skull right now."

"And that's hilarious because...?"

She pressed her lips together for a moment and glanced at Gus, who was worriedly trying to peek underneath a thick bandage on his forearm. "Shawn and Gus were in a shipyard," she began, and Gus rolled his eyes. "They were investigating pirates."

"Smugglers," Gus corrected, in a long-suffering voice. " _Long Shawn Silver_ is the one that kept insisting they were pirates."

"Right," she said. "Um... at approximately seven-thirty tonight, they were searching one of the boats; one of the suspects saw them, launched the boom at them, and when Gus said, 'Duck!', instead of... of getting down... Shawn said... 'Where?!' and it... quacked him in the back of the head." That was it—she had to hold the phone slightly away from her face so that Carlton wouldn't hear her squeak with the effort to hold on to her giggles. She'd thought she could hold on, but her terror at Gus's frantic call hadn't yet left her, and hearing Carlton's steady voice made her miss him, and want his no-nonsense presence, and she was so exasperated, and anxious, and relieved, that she had to finally let it out and either laugh or cry. She made eye-contact with Gus and held up the phone, her eyes pleading while one hand covered her mouth.

Gus sighed and took her phone. "Lassiter, it's Gus. ...yes, she's just a little shook up—they won't let her see Shawn yet. ...Very sure. He was only unconscious for a few minutes, and he was more upset about getting blood in his stupid hair than the smugglers making a break for it. The Chief and a bunch of others are down there now, and we know who at least one of them is, so some black and whites are heading to his last known address."

Juliet had managed to calm herself down and drink the rest of the water in her nearby bottle, and she gestured for her phone back. "It's me," she said. "Sorry about that. It's been a really long day and—"

"It's fine, just take care of yourself," Carlton said. He paused. "I really wish I could come out, but I'm in the middle of a big case that's just about to break, and if everything's ultimately going to be fine—if Shawn's okay and both of you are safe, I can't really justify—"

"I understand," she said quickly. "Really. I just wanted to let you know what happened, and that he's okay, and... I just wanted to hear your voice. When do you think we can see you?"

"I'm not sure." He sounded disapproving, and she could easily imagine him frowning. When he sighed, she could see him rubbing the spot on his forehead between his eyes. "It depends on what happens with this case. Even if you came here, I'm not home much right now. I can let you know."

"Please do."

"All right, I will." He paused. "When you see Shawn, tell him he's an idiot. No—make fun of his hair for me. Tell him he's going to have a scar and it's going to be bald there forever."

"Wow, traumatizing."

"He deserves it. 'Where!'" he mimicked. "Only Shawn _I-Love-Bunnies-And-Ducks_ Spencer would get cracked in the back of the head on a smuggler's ship because he got excited about being a goddamn pirate. Guster should get a mental check for going into business with him. Or hazard pay."

Juliet glanced at Gus. "Carlton says you should get hazard pay for following Shawn around."

Gus made a face at the bandage on his arm. "Oh, I'm putting in for it. And I'm the one that does the Psych finances: I'm getting a bonus, and it's coming out of his smoothie fund."

.

Lassiter had to wait until noon, all the while resenting time zone differences, before he could call a gift and delivery place in Santa Barbara. Juliet had called him back just before six, telling him that Shawn's father had been allowed in to see him just after they finished putting the staples in, and Henry had relayed to her and Guster that the doctor had wanted to keep Shawn at least twenty-four hours for observation, since it had been a pretty bad crack. "Good luck to them," she had sighed. "I called the Chief and she gave me the day off, so Gus and I are going to try to tag team with the nurses to make sure he actually stays. He hates hospitals, and Henry said he's up and left before."

Lassiter had almost responded that he shouldn't be so reckless, but that would have been the definition of wasted breath, especially to her, when she'd been sitting in a waiting room and worrying about his dumb ass for going on five hours. He was sure Henry would spend the next week or so reading him the riot act, but Shawn had gotten uncommonly good at tuning out his father over the years. Despite becoming quite... close... with both Juliet and Shawn in the last few months, Lassiter wasn't sure what his place was when it came to serious scolding; there was no way he wasn't going to say _something_ , though. Not when she'd started with _he's okay_ , indicating that something worrisome had happened, and then switched to _he's going to be okay_ , meaning he wasn't, at least not yet, and it had taken several minutes for Lassiter to feel like he could fully unclench his jaw again. Shawn was so overconfident of himself, and so stubborn, and so foolhardy, yet he hated to be told all of those things, probably because he knew all of it, but didn't care. Or maybe he just didn't like being reminded that there were people who cared about him so much that the only possible response to his antics was to yell at him and tell him he was an idiot in lieu of shaking the living shit out of him. The next time he saw them there would definitely be at least a little yelling. In the meantime...

"Good morning, Santa Barbara Custom Gifts," a female voice greeted. "Can I help you?"

"Yes," he said. "I'm calling from out of state, but I have a—uh—a friend. In a local hospital there." He cleared his throat. "I need to know if you can deliver something today."

"Yes sir, we certainly can," she said. "What did you have in mind? We have two different fully customizable balloon and flower bundles—"

He briefly considered sending Shawn balloons that said something like _#1 Private Dick Head_ , but he would probably enjoy that too much. "No, no—do you have candy?"

"Absolutely. Chocolates?"

"It doesn't really matter," he said. "Just a lot of it. A colossal amount, if you have it."

"Well, we have a two-pound box of peanut clusters, or a three-pound box of caramel turtles. Or, if you mean _really_ colossal, we have a ten-pound tub of Gummy Bears."

Shawn, shouting across a crowded airport baggage claim: _If I took a bite out of God's head..._ "That'll do," Lassiter said. "And I need a stupid card."

The girl paused. "Sir?"

"A stupid card," he repeated. "Something juvenile, immature—the more moronic, the better. The sort of get-well card someone in junior high would appreciate."

"Ummm..." she trailed off, and there was a short pause while she presumably looked around or checked a database. "We have Stewie Griffin, _'I demand you feel better immediately'_ on the cover, _'So that I may kill you later'_ on the inside."

He didn't know who Stewie Griffin was, but that sounded just about perfect. "That will work," he said.

"Name of the recipient?"

"Shawn Spencer."

There was another pause, wherein he could faintly hear a keyboard. "Any message for the inside of the card?"

He told her. "And this will be delivered today?"

"Yes, sir—before three o'clock at the latest."

He gave her his credit card information, hung up, rubbed his eyes. He'd been awake for almost thirty-six hours, and his dark and cool bedroom was calling to him, but he had found in the last few months that the king-sized bed he'd gotten just after his sister's wedding was far too empty when he was the only one in it. Twenty minutes later he was idly comparing prices for flights to California, though he didn't book anything just yet.

.

It wasn't fair, Shawn thought, as he glared at the blank TV screen. First he got his head smashed, then he had to have staples and they'd had to shave most of the back of his head, and then the stupid hospital jerks refused to let Jules see him, since she was 'only' his girlfriend—they'd let his father come instead, who had shouted for almost half an hour about how irresponsible and reckless he was, how sloppy his procedure was, he could have gotten himself killed and did get himself and his best friend injured. Henry had also dug in the fact that Juliet had seemed like she was using all of her will to keep herself together, and that it was his fault she looked terrible, because he was supposed to be smart but didn't ever really _think_. His dad's ranting had made a totally different part of his head ache—and on top of that, he hadn't even gotten to see a duck.

Henry finally left around nine, just after official visiting hours started and they finally let Juliet come in. Gus had come with her, but he'd left almost immediately, saying something about bringing Jules coffee and some food, while she gripped Shawn's hand and gave him the sort of look that he couldn't quite look at—the one that was furious and glad and full of love, filling him with the sort of shame his dad's nagging had never once been able to incite. She really didn't look that great—her hair was limp and there were brown circles under her eyes, she was pale and was pressing her lips together, probably to stop them from trembling—and she very clearly didn't give even a tiny shit, which meant that he'd really scared her.

"I'm sorry," he said before she could speak, and kissed her hand. "I'll hit the deck any time anyone says 'duck' ever again, I promise. The next time we hit the petting zoo I'm doing the Crawly Gator all over Quack Corners."

She closed her eyes and sighed, then shook her head with them still closed. "Shawn," she said, very tiredly.

The place where he'd been hit was super annoying, achy and bruisey and throbby and itchy, but he managed to sit up a little off the back of the bed and reach for her other hand. "I'm really sorry," he said again. "Really. I don't love ducks more than you. I don't even love Kit-Kats more than you. I don't even love my _hair_ more than you."

That did it; she laughed, and he smiled, even though it hurt, because that was at least a good hurt. "I love you too," she said. "I don't like getting calls like that, you know. All I was looking forward to was some Thai and a bubble bath, and then Gus calls me, and all I can get out of him is 'Shawn' and 'blood' and 'unconscious' and—"

He winced. "I need to tell him sorry too. Maybe I'll spend a couple of days chilling and riding with him on his route to keep him company. I'll even let him pick the music. Do you think he would notice if I replaced all of his CDs with The Hoff's _Night Rocker_?"

Juliet snorted. "I really, really hope so." Shawn thought she approved of his willingness to let someone watch over him for a while as well. He gave her hands a squeeze and then turned on his side to rest his cheek on the pillows. She stood and pulled up the blanket for him. "I called Carlton," she told him when he was comfortable.

He lifted his head again. "Really?"

"Of course. He would want to know that you're okay."

"He wouldn't even know anything happened unless you told him."

Jules gave him another look, this one a little impatient. "He would want to know right away, just like the rest of us would. Gus said the only reason he didn't call him himself is because he thought he'd be asleep, and Gus wanted to make sure you were going to be okay before calling anyone but me."

"I thought he was still working around the clock on those Publix robberies ever since one of the clerks was shot."

"He is, but Gus didn't know that. I left him a message and he called back when he was able to check his phone. But that's not the point—wouldn't you want to know if something happened to him?"

He thought about Lassie being shot, or assaulted with grits, whatever those were, and cringed a little. "Yeah. I would. What'd he say?"

She paused, slipping on the sort of grin she brought out when something was funny but slightly mean, and she wasn't sure if she wanted to say it. He held a hand up, palm toward himself, and beckoned her on with his fingers. "He said... you're going to have a scar and the back of your head is going to be partly bald for the rest of your life."

Shawn's mouth dropped open. "How _rude_ ," he said, in his best Stephanie Tanner. "It will _not_. I'll wear a weave if I have to. Wow, that's low, even for Lassie. When are we seeing him next? His ass is going to have a scar."

Juliet snorted. "We said we'd figure it out once he can close those robberies and you're better. See, there's another reason to stop being such an idiot—if you die, you'll never get to top him."

"Why do I always pick the most inopportune times to enter rooms?" came Gus's voice.

Shawn looked over to see him standing in the doorway with two cups of coffee. "Hi, buddy," he greeted, trying on a grin. It didn't make his head hurt too much, so he widened it. "Great timing, as always."

"No, Shawn, that was distinctly _bad_ timing." Gus sighed and came further into the room, offering one of the cups to Jules. She smiled at him in thanks and sipped, making only a small grimace of disgust at the hospital cafeteria taste.

"At least it wasn't me this time," Shawn pointed out. "I think you'll agree I've been _stellar_ at keeping TMI stuff on the DL."

"I'm going to go print you a gold star."

"I'd rather get a congratulatory smoothie."

"How about a congratulatory kick in the ass?" Gus offered. "I happen to have a surplus of those ready."

"Pass."

Juliet's phone vibrated, and she set her coffee down. "I'll be right back," she promised, and went out into the hall. She was back in almost immediately, looking even more drawn that before. "I'm sorry, Shawn, I need to go," she said. "Chief Vick says they got all four of the smugglers Gus told her that you sensed, but she won't let me come in until I get some sleep, so I'm going to go do that." She smiled, a cracking-ice sort of smile. "So that I have energy to tear them each seven new holes."

"Seven is lucky," Shawn said, approvingly. He blew her a kiss. "Bye, I love you, you're terrifying."

"Thank you, Shawn. Gus, Vick would like you to come in at some point today—not now—" she added pointedly "—to give your statement on what happened last night, and to identify the man that caused Shawn to nearly fracture his skull."

"Got it," Gus said, settling into one of the chairs against the wall. Shawn smiled and laid his cheek more comfortably against the pillow and closed his eyes, hearing the TV go on as he fell asleep.

He was awake again almost three hours later, when one of the nurses brought him a get-well package that had just been delivered. Gus thanked her and brought a large bucket over to Shawn's bed. "Oooh, what is it?" Shawn asked.

"Ten pounds of Gummy Bears," Gus said, looking as if he couldn't decide whether to be impressed or disgusted.

"Wow," Shawn said appreciatively. "That is one barrel of bears. Who's it from?"

"Dunno, but they spelled your name wrong." Gus unstuck the card from the top of the bucket and held it out.

"What!" Shawn made a face at the cursive, hand-written _Sean Spencer_ on the envelope. "At least they didn't do the version with the U. But who would send me that many gummies and not know how to spell _my_ name?" He ripped it open and pulled out a card with the evil baby from Family Guy on the front. He flipped it open and flicked his eyes to the initials at the end, and then he understood. Then he read the message and started to laugh.

 _You are a ducking moron, Spencer. Did you even quack the case? —CL_

He showed the card to Gus, who rolled his eyes and started to pry off the top of the Gummy tub. "This never would have happened if you didn't assume everyone else in the world goes into thralls of ecstasy over fowl," he grumped.

Shawn thought about that, and then he grinned—this one was too perfect to pass up. "Ha ha," he piped, a la Nelson Muntz. "This never would have happened if we had gone to Macon, Georgia."

"Oh my god," Gus said, holding his head.

* * *

 _Note: Shawn quotes Nelson from The Simpsons episode "Bart On The Road"._


	2. Riding The Tricycle

**FEBRUARY 2009**

 _You're moving close, my pulse is racing—we're getting close, yeah I can taste it_  
 _I've never done it quite like this—so slow it down now, just slow it down_  
 _The looks you give are so contagious, the way we move is so outrageous_  
 _Just let me in, wasting time—just let me in, let me in_  
—The Maine, "Count 'Em One, Two, Three"

Juliet planned Shawn's 30th birthday party carefully, renting a party room in one of his favorite bars/restaurants and stuffing it with all of the things that he liked—food, 80s music, people from the SBPD who thought he was amazing, junk food, pictures of his own face that showed off impressive things he'd done, snack food, his and Gus's Psych Man & Magic Head poster, and food—and although it was going to be without one thing he'd come to like an incredible amount since last summer (that would be rectified later, privately, which was probably for the best) everyone had a blast and Shawn only whined a little at his 'well advanced age'. Gus had gleefully stuck a hat with a massive, glittery "30" on it to his head, but Shawn had simply added another zero and went around calling everyone from Buzz McNab to Chief Vick "whippersnappers" and starting every other sentence with "Back in my day..."

Henry had left soon after attempting to remind Shawn of the fact that he was _actually_ an adult and would need to step up his game when it came to his responsibilities, but Shawn had kept on his Father Time voice and said, "Young man, when you get to be my age, you'll find that those are the things in life only kept around to keep the less imaginative people from having fun and really living. Let your mind break free from these chains, let your children run wild and free—bye, Dad, thanks for the new helmet." Henry turned back incredulously, as all of the gifts were still on a table, wrapped, then rolled his eyes, threw his arms in the air—ending with a little wave—and exited.

The party was meant to end around nine-thirty, but when ten rolled around and Juliet took Shawn aside and reminded him that they were supposed to pick up Carlton from the airport at ten-thirty, she was mildly surprised when he told her to go on and pick him up herself—he and Gus were in the middle of a lengthy argument with one of the newest officers to the SBPD on the highly sensitive matter of whether Homer or Bart Simpson was the main character of the show, and he would have Gus drop him off home around the same time she would get back.

Their timing was almost perfect—Carlton's flight was even a little early, and Juliet pulled up in front of the airport just as he was coming outside. The traffic was kind, and they had only just made it inside when they heard a horn in the parking lot beep twice, a goodbye from Gus. Carlton stowed his carry-on suitcase in a corner of Juliet and Shawn's bedroom, as per usual, and settled into the armchair just as Shawn bounced into the apartment.

"Happy birthday!" he shouted, arms up, and then stopped. "Oh, wait, that's me."

"Oh, look, the dirty thirty," Carlton said, and smirked.

"Yeah, you keep laughing, Lassie," Shawn said casually, taking a drink Juliet had prepared for him and perching on the end of the couch. "It doesn't take someone with my observational skills to know how old you're going to be in a couple of weeks. But don't worry—I know someone with access to drug samples, and we can keep you in all of the tadalafil our little hearts require."

"Uh huh. Let me guess, that's Viagra?"

"Nope." Shawn grinned. "That's sildenafil."

There was a pause, and Carlton rolled his eyes. "I know you're just waiting for me to ask—"

"It's Cialis," Shawn said, proudly. "They're the same, really, I just like saying the one with 'ta da!'"

"Researching ED treatments?" Juliet asked, settling down on the sofa with her own drink. "You really need to stop going through your dad's medicine cabinet."

The horrified look on Shawn's face was worth that one. "Good job, Jules, I am now so traumatized I'm not going to enjoy any of my birthday nookie."

"Who said you were getting any?" Carlton asked. Juliet smiled into her glass as she tipped some Johnnie Walker back.

"Right, you flew most of the way across the country because you love the in-flight peanuts."

Carlton shrugged loftily and sipped his drink. "More than I love your penis."

"...okay, I set myself up for that," Shawn said. He finished his drink and set the glass on the table; then his eyes flicked over, a little suspicious. "You're not seriously telling me you're not going to do me."

"That's what I'm telling you."

"But it's my birthday! Everyone knows you're supposed to get what you want on your birthday."

Carlton motioned to the wrapped package on the coffee table. "I brought you a present."

Shawn sighed. "I know you're fucking with me."

"I told you, that's exactly what I'm not doing." He met Juliet's eyes and she had to look away so that she wouldn't smile. "Even though it's your birthday," Carlton went on. "I'm not putting my dick in you."

"Why not?" Shawn demanded.

"Reasons."

"Oh my god." Shawn slid sideways and flopped on the sofa, face down. "Stop messing with me, Lassie. I'll cry."

"No, you won't."

"It's my party and I'll cry if I want to. My cake is going to get all soggy with my tears. You're a dick."

"Thought you liked that."

"Not if you don't give it to me!"

Juliet couldn't hold her smirk back any more and squeaked with the effort. Shawn looked up at her. "You didn't ask him what the reasons were," she told him.

"Fine." Shawn sat up. "What are the reasons?"

Carlton tipped his glass toward the gift on the table. "Open your present."

"I don't want it," Shawn said, his voice light but his face stubborn. "I want you to fuck me."

"That is not going to happen."

"Just open the present," Juliet said.

He looked at her again, now seeing that she knew something he didn't, and he sighed, reaching for it. "Fine. But it better not be, like, a wig or something. You can't refuse to fuck me _and_ make fun of my still-fucked-up hair in the same day, especially not on my fucking birthday. That's a law. It was ratified and satisfied."

"Well that's just not true," Carlton said. "Scarhead."

Shawn had shaken the box and turned it around in his hands, squinting at it. "It's empty," he said, and looked uncertainly at Juliet, but she shrugged. Frowning, he started to tear the paper, then shook it again. "Empty," he said again. "Like your conscience." Carlton ignored him and refilled his drink. Shawn finished taking off the paper to reveal an Amazon box that had the flaps secured down with packing tape. He gave both Juliet and Carlton another suspicious look, then slid a finger underneath one edge and pried the box open. He looked down into it for a long moment. "I bet that was fun to explain to airport security," he said at last. "Not 'why are you traveling with what appears to be an empty box'?, but 'why are you being so mean to someone on their birthday?' Seriously." He held it up and showed Juliet, who had of course already known that the box contained air and empty threats. "Is this supposed to mean something? Is this my punishment for trying to hide his return ticket when he came to visit after I got hurt? I don't get fucked _and_ I don't get a present?"

"Shawn," Carlton said patiently. "I'm fucking with you."

He tossed the box back onto the table. "I know. I'm chastened, now fuck me."

"Nope."

Shawn squinted at him again, and when he just looked back calmly, Shawn raised his hands. "Uncle," he said. "You win, I give. I don't get it. You admit you're screwing with me, but I don't get a present and you're not going to screw me."

Carlton smiled, pleased with his victory. "That's partly right. I did plan on giving you something. You can have it if you figure out what it is." He sipped his drink again.

"I'm honestly surprised you _don't_ get it yet, Shawn," Juliet said.

"Really," Carlton agreed. "I thought you were real-life genius Sherlock Holmes—I already told you twice what it was."

Shawn's eyes widened. "Oh," he said quietly. "It's you, right? You're not putting your dick in me, you're not going to fuck me—it's the other way around. You're going to let me fuck you."

Carlton shrugged. "Crossed my mind."

Shawn grinned. "You're going to give me your flower?"

Juliet laughed at the offended look on Carlton's face. "Not if you call it that," he snapped.

"I'll call it anything you want," Shawn promised. He paused. "You're going back the day after tomorrow?"

"Yes, but very early."

"Very early," Juliet said. "His flight leaves at seven, and we're getting up at five and leaving almost immediately."

Shawn made a face at the early wake-up call, but he would be there to take Carlton to the airport with her, whether he sleep-dragged himself out of bed at five or just mainlined caffeine and stayed up through the night. "Okay, but that gives us all of tomorrow."

"It does." Carlton seemed to realize what he was getting at, and he snorted. "Yes, Shawn—I'll fuck you tomorrow."

"I just wanted to make sure," he said, then got up and slid into Carlton's lap, straddling him.

.

"You okay?" Shawn murmured.

Lassiter closed his eyes, trying to concentrate on breathing slowly and relaxing enough to let his body adjust. "In a minute," he said. It felt like Shawn's cock was splitting him in half, and although he had pushed in very slowly, it felt like he was made of rock and a yard long. Three of his fingers pushed inside him all the way had been nothing compared to this—it was awkward and very uncomfortable, and he wondered how in the hell Shawn was able to moan and beg for more, beg for it harder, when he was on the receiving end.

"I can help," Juliet offered.

"Yeah," Shawn said. "Get him hard, that'll help a lot."

Lassiter opened his eyes to look at her, but she was no longer sitting cross-legged on the expanse of mattress—she had crawled closer, and his eyes tracked the fall of her hair as she leaned down and sucked his dick into her mouth. Shawn put his hand on the back of her head, patiently keeping his hips and his cock completely still, his eyes carefully watching Lassiter's face.

Juliet sucking on him _did_ help, and just like Shawn had said, a lot. When he was completely hard and she was still going up and down on him, he squeezed down on Shawn and then couldn't help his eyes flying open and then rolling back, making a breathy noise he wouldn't have credited coming from his own mouth.

Shawn beamed. "See?" he said. "Once you start to relax and loosen up, someone's dick in your ass feels _amazing_."

"Uh huh," was all Lassiter could manage.

"Let me know when you're ready for me to move."

"In a minute," he said again. It still felt like he was being impaled, but now he was starting to see the upside of it, that the tightness and the internal friction could actually be pleasurable, especially combined with the stimulation of his dick. He reached for Juliet and moved her hair, tucking a soft curl behind her ear so that he could see her face. She made eye contact with him and then tightened the suction of her lips almost painfully, and when he squirmed a little he felt Shawn twitch inside him, and he couldn't help but moan softly again, deciding that yes, he did want to feel the dick in his ass start to move. "Shawn," he whispered. "Okay. Slow."

"Of course," he murmured. "'Scuse me, Jules, I need to get a grip on this situation." As soon as Juliet had grinned and backed up, he closed his hand around Lassiter's dick and started to move both his hand and his hips, rubbing his palm over the sensitive head and squeezing the shaft. It was a _very_ weird sensation when he pulled back, but he timed his next thrusts forward with particularly good squeezes, gradually building a faster rhythm, and it wasn't long at all before Lassiter had his hands fisted in the sheets, breathing in low grunts and looking at Shawn with surprise—so this _did_ feel all right, better than he'd imagined, still somewhat painful because he was still adjusting—and a little helpless desperation, feeling out of control and, okay, a little frightened, because this was building, and it was so much, so intense. It was getting harder to breathe.

Shawn must have seen something on his face, because he slowed down even more, pushing all the way inside and then going twice more with long, careful thrusts. He stopped, breathing a little hard himself, then took one of Lassiter's hands and gently unmade the fist, pressing a kiss into the center of his palm. "You're okay," he said gently. "Remember what I told you—you have to _let_ me inside you. It's kind of like—like letting go. Try to relax completely and let me in."

He tried to do what Shawn described and let go of his control, but although he could tell that Shawn was completely still, he still felt like the hard cock inside him was splitting him in half. He looked at Juliet and crooked one finger at her to come closer and she did, lying on her side next to him and then giving him a long kiss with lots of her sweet, soft tongue. When she let him go, Lassiter took a long, slow breath, trying to decide if he was ready for him to start again. It didn't hurt as much now, and it didn't feel bad, exactly, but it was still quite a strange feeling to be penetrated like this, uncomfortable to have so much of someone else literally inside of him. He looked at Shawn, who was studying his face carefully, and he shook his head a little.

"I don't know how you do this so... enthusiastically," he said shakily. "And I'm bigger than you."

Shawn raised his eyebrows. "Oh yeah? Well... my hair is still nicer than yours, even with the weird scar. I'm a punk, man."

"I know." He tried to move a little bit on him, to see if setting the pace himself would help, but when Shawn pressed forward again, even slightly, his body clenched up again and he drew away, hissing in air. Shawn looked at him again and tilted his head to the side, and Lassiter tried to head off any undue concern. "A thirty-year-old punk," he added.

"Rude," Shawn said softly, but he didn't look offended; he looked at Juliet, seeming to confirm something, and then he smiled. "One of these days I'm going to rock your casbah, but it's okay if it's not right now."

Lassiter was confused—he was getting better at reading the looks Juliet and Shawn sometimes shared, still a little amazed at how often they seemed to communicate completely without words, but this time he wasn't sure what had passed between them, because if the Clash reference was referring to sex, they were already doing that. "If what's not right now?" he asked.

"This," Shawn said patiently. "You seem a little freaked out."

He tried to say he wasn't, but suddenly found that he couldn't, because that was exactly what he was—that explained why he was still shaking, why he couldn't breathe easily, why his stomach and chest felt so tight, and why he still hadn't been able to completely relax and just let Shawn fuck him.

"Do you want to stop?" Juliet asked softly.

He took one more breath, and then he nodded. "Sorry," he said to Shawn, who was carefully pulling out. He'd been so far inside that Lassiter suddenly felt empty with him gone, which was also a very strange feeling, because he could also still feel him. He finally relaxed and breathed again, drawing air to the bottom of his lungs.

Shawn shrugged, stretching out on his back on the bed. "That's okay, not everyone likes it. Not even all guys who only sleep with guys do."

"And some straight guys do," Juliet added.

"I did like it," Lassiter said quietly. "It was just... overwhelming. Now that I know what to expect, next time we try that I'm sure I'll be able to handle it." Shawn shrugged again and nodded, and Lassiter leaned over to kiss him, cupping his cheek like he liked. "I'm sorry," he said again. "Happy birthday, anyway."

"Oh yeah, it _is_ my birthday," Shawn said, grinning again. "So how serious are you about not treating my dick deficiency tonight?"

"Not at all. I just want to get cleaned up a little," he said, nodding toward the bathroom. The odd, slidey-sticky feeling down below had to go.

"You do that," Shawn said, tilting his head at Juliet, who grinned back at him. "We'll just get started."

When Lassiter came back into the bedroom, Juliet was on her back, writhing a little and moaning softly at the ceiling, and he stopped to just look at her for a moment. Shawn had her spread out wide, his face between her legs and his tongue rubbing and flicking across her clit; Lassiter watched him slide two of his fingers inside her, and she moaned again before twisting the fingers of one hand into his hair and pulling, trying to grind into his mouth. He licked her up and down and then molded his lips around her clit, sucking gently, and she arched her back while her eyelids fluttered closed and she gripped his hair tighter. He moved where and how she wanted him, humming in pleasure—while giving someone oral sex was the only time he ever allowed anyone to touch his hair, and Lassiter knew from firsthand experience that it wound him up quite a bit when anyone grabbed and yanked and forced him to move or to stay in place.

Lassiter sat down on the bed to watch, and when Shawn noticed him, he stuck his tongue as far inside her as he could, and then he popped up, put both hands on the back of Lassiter's neck, and kissed him deeply. Lassiter tasted Juliet's pussy on his lips and his cock was instantly hard again; he threw Shawn down on his back and straddled him, pinning him down by his forearms and rubbing his cock against Shawn's, tasting his mouth. He still sometimes had moments where it seemed to hit him again that he was having sex with a man, that it was Shawn Spencer he was naked with, that he was also actually sleeping with Juliet O'Hara— who wasn't his partner, but his former partner—but the more often he saw them and spent the night with them, the easier it was. Shawn gave him his tongue easily, writhing underneath him and gasping for more.

"What do you want?" Lassiter asked him, because it _was_ his birthday.

"This," he said, almost pleading, his eyes dark. "Not 'til I come, or until you do, 'cause I want to be in the middle. But right now: hold me down and fuck me hard."

Lassiter was at first reluctant to comply completely with this, having just realized himself what it felt like, but Shawn knew what he wanted, and it was obvious early on that he did like to be dominated. His eyes rolled back and he started moaning again as soon as Lassiter shoved his dick inside him and started to pound him, and Lassiter almost laughed when Juliet slid next to him and started to tease him, very lightly brushing Shawn's cock, and then licking one of his nipples and blowing on it.

"Ohmygod, ohmygod, you guys are evil," Shawn panted.

"You have the right to remain silent," Juliet murmured. "Or we might cease and desist."

"It's—it's my birthday—fuck, Lassie, harder—fuck me—"

Juliet looked at Lassiter, her face serious but her eyes amused. "Stop," she said, and he did, holding completely still with his dick only halfway inside Shawn. There was often a hierarchy here, and he wasn't stupid—he knew who was at the top of it just as well as the other two did, and while he never would have allowed himself to not be at the top when it came to work, or almost any other faction of life, here it was okay, more than okay. And it wasn't like he was at the bottom.

"Noooo," Shawn whined, trying to thrust himself back down on Lassiter's dick.

"You stop too," Juliet said, very softly. She lightly pinched one of his nipples and Lassiter could feel him jerk a little, but he obeyed. They were both looking at her, not each other, and when she checked to make sure of this, she smiled. "Good. You can be in the middle, Shawn, but you're going to finish what you started. And if you come before I do..." She glanced at Lassiter and he licked his lips, not knowing entirely what that look in her eyes was about yet, only that she _would_ get her way.

"If I do?" Shawn asked, his voice a little breathless still.

"Then we'll both do all sorts of things to you tomorrow," she said, still grinning. "But you won't come at all. I think we can make sure of that."

"Evil!" he chirped, trying to squeeze on the dick in his ass and then wiggling a little again, clearly not having as much as he wanted.

Juliet looked at Lassiter, and then gave him a grin that was just for him, leaning in close to kiss the side of his face. "Let him up, turn him around, and fuck him," she said softly, and then moved her lips to the cup of his ear, her breath tickling the tiny hairs there. "And I want you to make him come before I do."

Diabolical, certainly, but not outright evil—not to anyone who wasn't Shawn in the middle of this scenario, at least. Lassiter smirked back at her and in a matter of moments they had Shawn right where he'd wanted to be, and right where they wanted him. Juliet was stretched out onto her back again, one hand wound in his hair and directing his tongue fucking her, while he was on his hands and knees, his spread knees almost at the edge of the bed. Lassiter was standing behind him, pushing his cock roughly all of the way inside him, one hand on his hip and the other wrapped around his dick; then his hand moved faster as his hips jerked forward harder, his fist squeezing the base of Shawn's cock as he rammed inside him hard, all of the way, and going up to the head when he pulled back.

It was a close race, and Lassiter thought that the only reason Shawn didn't come first was because of the angle—it was actually kind of difficult to get enough room and leverage to fuck him while trying to jerk him off at the same time—and because Shawn managed to get two of his fingers inside her and crook them just right. Juliet arched her back off the bed as she came, twisting her fingers in his hair hard and grinding his mouth into her, and Lassiter forgot about what his hand was supposed to be doing as he watched her eyes roll back and her chest heave. She let Shawn's head go and collapsed onto the bed, and he laughed a little.

"I win," he panted, laying his head against the sheet and then squeezing down on Lassiter's dick. "Lassie, why'd you stop?"

"Sorry," Lassiter said, and although he didn't resume fucking him yet, he stroked Shawn's cock back and forth, trying to make him squirm, which started to work at once; he buried his face in the mattress, spread his legs a little wider, and thrust backwards.

Juliet reached for Shawn and smoothed his hair down. "You want to be in the middle?" she asked.

"Yes!" Shawn braced both hands on the mattress and raised himself up. "Come here."

She shook her head slowly, smiling, as she settled down on her back farther up on the bed and spread her legs. " _You_ come here."

Lassiter carefully pulled back from Shawn so that he could crawl forward to her, and then he waited patiently, knowing that they would show him where they wanted him. Shawn moved across the empty space at once and slid into her, catching her breathy moan in his mouth as he put one arm behind her neck, holding her close and kissing her. She put both hands under his arms and squeezed his back when he caressed her breast and brushed her nipple with his other hand; Lassiter sat on the edge of the bed, watching the way she licked into Shawn's mouth and thrust her hips upward to meet his. Shawn pulled his mouth away from hers and slid his lips down her throat, then he muttered something and Juliet looked at Lassiter and raised her eyebrows.

He shook his head. "Didn't catch that."

She smiled. "He's not in the middle yet—you need to fuck us."

Of course—it was Shawn's birthday, he would get one of his all-time favorite positions. Lassiter moved back behind him and Shawn held still long enough for him to shove his cock all the way inside him again, and then he moaned loudly when Lassiter put both hands on his hips to guide him back and forth—back onto his cock, forward into Juliet. Shawn tried to thrust both ways faster, but Lassiter held him firmly, setting the pace and keeping it until the two underneath him were both panting and writhing and he couldn't hold himself back any longer. He shifted position just slightly, so that instead of pulling Shawn onto him, he could slam into him, and then he went hard, fucking Shawn with long, steady thrusts and forcing him into Juliet in the same way.

Shawn's moans were high and breathy as he tried to keep some form of control over himself, but with the way they were both holding him, all he could really do was just let go and take it and cry out how much he loved it. He attached his lips to Juliet's neck again, moving to her shoulder, and Lassiter could tell by the way her eyelids fluttered and she dug her nails into his back that he was getting toothy—not normally one for biting, he only did so when he was just about crazy with it, almost over the edge of coming so hard he wouldn't be able to breathe.

Sure enough, a few seconds later his cries reached a crescendo of both of their names mixed with swearing and affirmation; Lassiter pushed his dick inside him as far as it would go and rocked him through it as he tensed and twitched and tried to gasp. Juliet smiled and lifted her head far enough to kiss him, and Lassiter did the same, the position they were in only allowing him to press his lips to the side of Shawn's face before pulling out of him and gently rolling him off Juliet and onto his back.

Shawn's lungs unlocked and he let out his breath in a whoosh, starting to pant again, mumbling, "Ohmygod, ohmygod, m'god, guh, fuck."

Juliet snickered a little at that, turning on her side and laying her head on his shoulder. "Wow," she said. "I'm going to be feeling that tomorrow."

"Me too." Shawn closed his eyes and laid back bonelessly, and then his eyes popped open and he lifted his head enough to look at Lassiter. "Uh uh," he said. "Unacceptable."

He frowned a little, confused—he'd thought that was exactly what they'd wanted. "What?"

Shawn looked at Juliet. "Lassie didn't come," he said.

"You're right, that is unacceptable," she agreed. "Are you sore?"

"No," he said. "Are you?" She nodded, and Shawn looked at Lassiter and held his arms out. "C'mere."

He did, but although Shawn lifted his legs and tried to wrap them around his waist, Lassiter didn't push into him again yet—instead, he cupped his cheek and kissed him, noticing how much he still tasted like Juliet. "Are you sure you're okay?" he asked. "I went at you pretty hard."

"And it was definitely amazing," Shawn said, almost sighing. "I'm good, just start slow."

"I can do that." Lassiter reached for the tube of lube that he'd tossed to the corner of the mattress earlier and applied more, then eased his dick inside Shawn and moved carefully, holding him in much the same way Shawn had held Juliet earlier, except that Lassiter put both of his arms under Shawn's back, his hands almost to his shoulders, instead of under his neck. Shawn liked to be fucked hard—loved it, couldn't get enough—but sometimes he also responded to the slow and gentle route, licking his lips and then pressing his wet and open mouth against Lassiter's throat, his moans softer but lower, his chatter in murmurs and whispers instead of near shouts.

"Lassie," he breathed. "Ohh, Lassie, ohmygod, you feel so good, so good, fuck, yes, don't stop, _never_ stop."

"Can't... can't do this forever," he managed to say, already starting to feel his orgasm approaching—he'd already been close when pounding him, but this was different, this _was_ so good, never in a million years would he have ever thought making love to Shawn Spencer could be one of the best things in his life, but it was, and Juliet was watching, smiling, another one of the best things, the only good things.

"Sounds like a challenge," Shawn said, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. Lassiter pulled him a little closer yet, close enough to kiss his neck and his jaw. They were pressed so tightly that he could hardly move his hips back enough to pull out and thrust back in—he was almost entirely inside him and could only manage the slight back and forth motion he'd been doing earlier, but it was going to be enough. He could feel Shawn's dick between them and could tell that it wasn't hard; he wasn't going to come again, he was just enjoying the feeling of Lassiter inside him, of being held while Lassiter rocked him, closer and closer to coming inside of him. Shawn could tell he was getting close and he lifted his legs a little more, giving him more room, and then he put both hands on the back of Lassiter's neck and kissed the underside of his jaw, breathing in quick, short gasps against his neck.

"Mmm... oh, Lassie, Lassie," he whispered. "You're so good, _so_ nice. Give it to me."

So he did, pulling out just a little more and going back in all the way, faster, molding into him and sliding thrusting surging and then he was coming, coming hard like coming home. He kept his eyes open and saw Shawn smile, satisfied, and out of the corner of his eye he could see Juliet grinning, also pleased that everyone had gotten theirs in such a mind-blowing way. He nearly collapsed onto Shawn, letting out one last breath that was half moan and dropping his forehead onto Shawn's shoulder, still inside of him and still holding him.

"Wow," Shawn said after a long moment, breathing long and slow and ending with a deep, contented sigh. "Happy _fucking_ birthday to me."

"And you complained about turning thirty," Juliet teased him softly.

"Don't worry Jules, yours is coming up." Shawn petted the back of Lassiter's hair. "You gonna sleep like this?" he asked, not sounding irritated, just curious and a little amused.

Lassiter looked up at him. "Yes," he said. "You're cozy."

Shawn smirked; he loved it when anyone tossed his lines back at him. "I know. It's fine, I like being a pillow."

"I'll move." Lassiter sighed. "Eventually." He put both hands on the mattress and shoved himself up, carefully pulling away from Shawn and then flopping down on his back.

"Not it," Shawn murmured.

"For what?" Juliet asked.

"If anyone wants towels or the sheets to cover up." He stretched and put his hands behind his head, eyes closed. "It's still my birthday in Hawaii, so not it."

"You don't care that you're 'all gooey'?" Lassiter asked, as Shawn was usually the first to at least wipe off with a towel or shirt after a sexathon.

"Not tonight I don't," he said serenely. "I've just been shagged so righteous I could be Muppet skin. Jules, can you hit the lights? I get to sleep in the middle too, right?"

"Sure," she said to both questions, and leaned over to kiss him before getting up and flipping the light switch on the wall.

Lassiter glanced down and saw the shirt Shawn had been wearing earlier, and he grabbed it up to swab the excess lube from his groin before tossing it carelessly toward the hamper. There was a lamp that was on Juliet's usual side that was still on; Lassiter reached over for its switch as well, and when Juliet got back into the bed, Shawn turned on his side, facing her and holding his arms open. She slid into them, against him, and he rested his chin on the top of her head while she nuzzled into his neck. Lassiter eased down behind him and turned onto his side too, laying his arm over Shawn and curling it against his stomach, pulling him close. Shawn leaned back against him and then pulled Juliet closer, sighing again as though everything was right in the entire world.

" _Damn_ cozy," he mumbled. Juliet made a sleepy sound of assent and Lassiter just pressed his face against Shawn's neck and closed his eyes.


End file.
